


Sedum Daydreams

by procrastinator_writer



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-25 00:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22006684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/procrastinator_writer/pseuds/procrastinator_writer
Summary: Secret Santa gift for one of my best pals! Just a story of Tim thinking about his dead boyfriends.
Relationships: Bart Allen/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Bart Allen/Tim Drake, Bart Allen/Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 3
Kudos: 61





	Sedum Daydreams

There were bouquets on the table, of different coloured flowers. Mostly in blue, red, and yellow. The smell was strong of floral decay, the flowers wilting and browning around the edges. 

They should have been gone by now, there shouldn’t have been a pile of dying flowers. Whenever offered for them to be cleaned up, Tim denied. He would place them somewhere, wherever, soon. The flowers were a good reminder of what he had. Something he lost long ago. It felt like it was just yesterday.

Grief was a weird emotion. He could go through his day and feel fine. He could laugh and smile like he used to, and everything felt okay. And then he would see a leather jacket or something move in the corner of his eye and everything would fall apart.

Tim spent a lot of his time in his room if he wasn’t on patrol to try to get the thoughts of the departed out of his mind. It’s not like he wanted to forget about them -- about Bart and Kon. Every single memory he had of the two, he would hold closely to his heart.

That’s why he couldn’t bring himself to get rid of the flowers. He didn’t want to face the facts. He didn’t want to believe they were truly dead. The moment he placed the bouquets down, he would have to accept the world without his best friends. He couldn’t face that, not now.

Maybe if the flowers continued to wilt on the table, they would come back. There was no correlation or hints that this would be true. Tim, for once, didn’t care about the truth. He cared about Kon and Bart coming back. 

So instead of placing the flowers to where they belonged, Tim just picked up a few of the fallen petals and stared at them. They were soft in his hands, but it just reminded him that nothing lasts forever.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, using the back of his hand to wipe at his eyes. Who even gave him permission to cry? He had to be strong. It’s the least he could do for Bart and Kon.

He sat down on his bed, taking one more look at the flowers before falling back and curling up into his sheets. The bed sank under his weight, giving him some kind of comfort. He wrapped the blanket around him, looking to the wall. Kon’s jacket hung there. Why were there so many memories in this room?

He remembered getting so many calls from Kon, the clone asking where his jacket was or how many shirts did he actually have to borrow? Tim would just laugh, saying he would buy Kon more, only to steal them again. Sure, Tim could just buy his own shirts, but where is the fun in that? It gave Kon an excuse to come see him.

Tim used to wear the jacket almost everyday after Kon… left. Yes, left. He would come back, he had to. Anyways, Tim loved wearing that jacket. It gave him peace, security. He would sit in his room for hours, running his hands across the patches, feeling the stitching. It was obvious that Ma Kent was responsible for this, Kon would never have the patience for this.

There came a day Tim hung the jacket up and just never put it on again. He didn’t want to ruin it by accident, there’d been too many close calls when he would get it caught on something. If… when… when Kon came back, he would be pissed if there was a hole or tear in his jacket.

His shirts were a different story. Tim wore those so frequently, he was surprised that there wasn’t some news article about him being Superboy’s lover. Not like he could deny those allegations, of course. 

Tim wore them so often, he remembered Alfred asking about it.

_“Master Drake, you haven’t washed that shirt in weeks. Please let me have it.” Alfred’s voice was soft. He didn’t want to use force, he was more than aware of what loss could do to a person._

_“It smells like him, Alfred.” There were tears in Tim’s voice. He didn’t hand over the shirt. Alfred didn’t ask for it either, he just nodded and left him alone._

The shirts no longer smelt like Kon, Tim accepted that a long time ago. The smell faded and the shirts were washed. Tim still wore them, mostly around the house and to bed. They meant something to him still, he wasn’t going to get rid of them.

His eyes drifted to his bedside drawer. On it was a red Gameboy. Why were there so many memories in his bedroom and why did they all have to hit him now? Couldn’t he just miss one of them at a time? It hurt enough when it was just one, Tim didn’t want to miss both.

Tim picked it up, his thumb going over a faded sticker. It was faded before Bart died, and he never understood why the sticker wasn’t replaced. Probably the nostalgia or the memories. Ah, maybe he could understand why.

Turning it on, he watched the screen light up and soft electronic music start to play. It was some Mario game, Tim didn’t really know which one. There were times where he wanted to play, see what the big fuss was about. But he couldn’t bring himself to start a new game. This was Bart’s file. He’d surely would want to continue the game once he got back.

Tim made sure he switched the batteries out whenever they started to get low from him turning the system on and off. The Gameboy had to be in the best condition for when Bart came back, it was the least Tim could do. The music was calming, reminded him of better days.

He remembered Bart cuddling into his side, a silent request to be the little spoon, as he booted up his handheld. Even though Tim didn’t really play Mario, he liked to watch Bart play over his shoulder. 

_“Impulse, what are you doing? We need you over here!” Tim yelled through the comms, gracefully dodging a few attacks from the opposing side._

_“I’ll be there, don’t you worry!” Bart’s reply came, Tim could tell he was distracted. “Oh come on! I can never make that jump! It’s not even that far!”_

_Tim rolled his eyes. Ah, so that was it._

_“Are you seriously playing a game right now?”_

_“...No.” Was the answer before the comm went quiet before Bart appeared next to Tim. “I was almost done that level too!”_

Tim set the Gameboy down. Memory lane was always a wild trip. 

He rolled over, hoping to maybe close his eyes and get some sleep. He was tired, more than usual. Perhaps it was the emotions that was getting to him. A nap sounded nice anyways, a few hours of just nothing.

On the other nightstand, Tim stared at the pair of goggles and sunglasses underneath his lamp. He pursed his lips and a small noise caught in his throat. He was definitely not crying, he doesn’t cry.

It was weird how just a few objects could bring back so many emotions and memories of people. But why did they have to stay memories? Why wasn’t Tim allowed to make new ones? He didn’t deserve this, no one did. He didn’t want to be alone. He’s been alone for too long already. Every added minute felt like an eternity. 

Okay, maybe Tim was crying. Could you blame him?

“You guys need to get back soon. I need to get rid of these damned flowers.”


End file.
